I’m afraid I’m one of “them.”

I can’t help it. It’s how I was raised. I’m sure many of you were, too.

From the time I was a child, I could tell you which princess belonged where in the line to the throne in England; which Kennedy followed which, and who their kids were; and exactly what Grace Kelly gave up to marry a prince in Monaco.

My mother seemed to be an encyclopedia of royalty, and loved to discuss their lives and their scandals.

Who knows if she thought they were important, or if they were just a distant version of Hollywood. Either way, she paid attention, and therefore, so did her only daughter.

I’ll admit it helped that some of them were close to my age. A little girl can dream of marrying a royal, can’t she?

These two families were similar in their fame, but so different in the way they lived their lives. The Kennedys endured so much tragedy, while the royals in Britain and Monaco fumbled and bumbled their way through life.
Needless to say, I found them all charming.

Until Diana.

It took me a very long time to get on the bandwagon — until the divorce, frankly.

I think it was that for so long, she was everywhere.

I know she was a humanitarian. But, she didn’t have a job, so it made sense that she got involved and put that star power to work.

It wasn’t until it became so abundantly clear that she was so deeply wronged by her husband that I became sympathetic to her situation in life.

And, she had those two kids.

The adorable William and precocious Henry were in the spotlight as much as Diana, but made it all seem so much fun in the process.

Wills, as he came to be known, had those mischievous eyes that looked as if he was up to something. Harry didn’t bother working the eyes.

He just pulled the pranks big brother never bothered with.

They grew up seemingly on camera, waving in their ridiculous royal clothes as they headed to church with their families, or to their private schools or to meet with heads of state.

They seemed most at home next to Diana, walking hand in hand and even more often laughing as they enjoyed the day. Their most important walk was no doubt their most difficult, as they escorted the princess to her burial after her shocking death at age 36.

Once she was gone, the boys grew up quickly.

Wills, who was 15 when she died, quickly finished school and joined the military. Harry, who was 13 then, did much the same.

Sure, they’ve had their share of troubles along the way, both in decision-making and their love lives, but who didn’t as they grew up? They just were unfortunate enough to have the entire world paying attention.
They ain’t seen nothing yet.

In a mere 26 days, Wills will be wed to his sweetheart with the whole planet watching. In July 1981, when his mother married Prince Charles at St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, there were a mere 750 million people tuned in for the show.

The wedding, which will begin here in the States at 6 a.m. on April 29, should shatter that number, because so many more will be viewing online as bride Kate Middleton’s dress and the flowers are unveiled, and seeing whether Camilla, the woman who broke up Charles and Diana, dares to show up.

I’ll be among them.

As a 14-year-old, I slept through Diana’s nuptials in a hotel in Toronto during a family vacation.

I still feel a twinge of regret when the highlights from the ceremony are shown, knowing that I didn’t get to see such a piece of history.

No such worries this time. Alarms will be set. DVRs will be ready. Cable bills will be paid.

When that little fella I have watched grow up says “I do,” I’ll be there to cheer him on.

I have to. I’m one of “them.”

LKessel@News-Herald.com